The Bridge
by lorilee66
Summary: The encounter on the bridge from 'Palms of Glory', told from Heath's POV.


_A/N: I don't own The Big Valley and make no money from this._

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Heath didn't know why he'd pointed his mare's head in the direction of Stockton. He left behind a good job in Corning, but he reckoned it was just something that needed to be done, like getting a burr out of your horse's blanket. No one would be comfortable until it was taken care of.

He let the black pick her way through the rocks along the creek bed. Knowing she'd pick the best path, he was free to let his mind go wandering. What did he want to do anyway, when he reached Stockton? Or more to the point, when he reached his father's family's ranch? He was under no illusions that he'd be welcomed with open arms like the prodigal son retuning home. It was more likely he'd be set on his way with a swift kick in the pants so knowledge of his existence wouldn't mar the family name.

Well, the Barkleys did have a big spread. Maybe he could sign on and get the lay of the land before he made up his mind. Maybe just seeing the place would get rid of the burr and he could move on, get on with his life.

The hollow thud of hooves on wood brought Heath out of his reverie and he saw they were on a narrow bridge that crossed a fast running river. Not a large river, but certainly one he didn't care to ford.

As his horse started on, he saw a tall man on a tall bay enter the bridge from the other side. He sized up his opponent as they drew nearer, as opposition it was going to be. The bridge was only wide enough for one and he wasn't about to be the one who suffered the indignity of backing up his horse. He'd much rather take a swim in the river.

The man sat tall as though he owned all that he surveyed and Heath could see that the gear was of high quality. The horse was a well-built bay and his keen judge of horseflesh told him the horse was of high quality too.

They stopped in the middle of the bridge, their mounts almost nose to nose, and the narrow one-horse bridge swayed slightly.

"Afternoon."

"Afternoon."

Heath waited to see what his adversary would say next.

"Quite a pony you got there."

Heath patted his horse on the side of the neck. "Yeah, she's a runner." He hoped the other man wasn't just toying with him. She was quite a pony, cowy and trail-savvy, and Heath trusted her to carry him though whatever might lie ahead, even to swim him across that river if it became necessary.

"Indian?"

"Modoc." He remembered the favour he'd done for one of the Modoc chiefs. He'd protested that the gift of a horse was too much, but the chief insisted and Heath never regretted it.

"They breed them right up there."

A wicked idea came to Heath's mind. "Except for one thing."

"Oh, what's that?"

Heath didn't think the other man was really interested; they were both just getting a feel for the other. "They don't know how to back up." Then he delivered a thinly veiled insult. "So if you'll just pull that crockhead off this bridge…" He didn't think it would happen; Heath resigned himself to the fact that they'd sit there until the bridge gave way and they both got a ducking.

The other man looked smug. "Well now, I'd gladly do that for you, boy, except for one thing."

Heath had a feeling he knew what the other man was going to say. He didn't look like the type to be shown up.

"This one's a Modoc too."

Right. And Heath wore a lace bonnet and petticoats to church on Sunday.

He heard a low creaking noise. The bridge was swaying closer to the river and Heath knew it wasn't designed to take the weight of two horses. Yep, they were going to be taking an unplanned swim sooner rather than later.

In fact, the cold water might feel good. Heath casually took off his hat and fanned himself with it. "Hot, ain't it?"

The other man smiled, obviously enjoying the challenge. Heath wondered if he knew about the bath they'd soon be taking.

"Yeah, you can really raise a sweat this time of year." They looked at each other for a moment. "That's a fine looking blowpipe you got there."

Heath glanced down at the rifle sticking out of its scabbard. He remembered when his mama had given it to him for Christmas and how she told him she'd traded a wandering vaquero for it in exchange for room and board. He'd managed to bag a fat turkey that year and it was one of the best Christmases of his life. "Mexican."

"Is that a fact?"

Heath smirked. "Got the bite to blow the head off a grizzly."

"That is if you get to it in time."

But Heath knew it was no idle boast. That marauding bear had almost taken a large chunk out of him and his horse before he got off the shot. But he could match arrogance for arrogance any day. "Don't need too. Just think it. Eyeball or buttonhole I want to pop and pow."

The other man patted the holster at his right hip without Heath even asking. "English."

Now that was just bragging. "Do tell."

"Core an apple at a half a mile."

Somehow, Heath knew this _was_ an idle boast, but he was willing to play along. "On the tree or fallen?"

"On horseback." The bridge creaked again. "In a hurricane." Another creak and Heath felt the bridge shift. They were about to get wet.

The bridge couldn't take their combined weight any longer; the whole centre gave way and tossed both of them into the water. Heath's Modoc swam strongly towards shore and he hung on to the saddle. He was glad that he hadn't lost his hat when they fell in and fixed it firmly on his head as he let his horse carry him along.

They soon reached the other side, soaked and dripping. Heath swung himself back in the saddle while the mare was still moving, then pulled her up and turned around. The other man had reached the far shore and they shared a smile before heading their separate ways. Heath found himself hoping that he'd run into the other man again. Braggart or not, he seemed like someone Heath would be glad to have at his back any time.


End file.
